Romancing His Rival

Chapter 2

2 NOAH One Month EarlierI clench my teeth and check my Rolex for the third time. This entire thing is a huge waste of time.

“Where is she?” I cast a glance at Olivia’s father, Fred Cane, who’s seated at the head of the long conference room table.

“She’ll be here,” he assures me. Then, under his breath, he adds, “She’s got to.”

My sentiments exactly.

This meeting is a last-ditch effort to try to convince Olivia to sign the contract. But I’m worried today will just be a repeat of last week. She flat-out refused to sign anything that put the two of us together in the same sentence.

But we need to get hitched before ownership of Tate & Cane Enterprises can transfer to us. And with the board of directors’ deadline looming, we need to do it yesterday. I’m not losing the $100 billion company that my father built just because the ice queen won’t play nice.

If Olivia doesn’t show up today, and if we can’t agree on the terms of this contract—our marriage, both of our futures are at stake. As are the jobs and lives of the six thousand employees of Tate & Cane, including one of my favorite people on the planet, Rosita Hernandez. She’s a single mom to six kids. And if this deal goes south, I can only imagine what would happen to someone like Rosita. In all honesty, I’d probably end up moving her and the kids into my penthouse. Which would obviously put a huge cramp in the lifestyle of a single bachelor.

But I won’t be single anymore…

“I know it’s unconventional, that the contract is . . .” Fred pauses and frowns. He drums his fingers on the table, looking sheepish.

Unconventional? To say the least. If the situation weren’t so grim, I might laugh.

He and my father drew up their wills years ago, outlining what would happen to their multibillion-dollar baby should they both perish. The daunting stack of papers in front of me spells out in full legal jargon that Olivia and I are to inherit the company with joint fifty-fifty ownership . . . but only if we’re legally wed.

With Fred’s failing health and the company itself suffering six consecutive quarters in the red, an emergency meeting was called last week. Olivia and I were presented with our options.

In my view, there were no options. There was just the right thing to do. We had to marry to save not only our own jobs, but our fathers’ legacies and the jobs of six thousand people in offices in Manhattan, Chicago, San Diego, and Brussels.

Olivia felt differently. She didn’t relish the idea of being tied to me, and insisted there had to be another way.

Even if we do manage to persuade her to tie the knot, there’s no way Olivia would be getting anywhere near my bed. Pity.

We came close once . . . just once.

Spring break our senior year of college—her family was staying with mine in a beach house on Puget Sound. We’d escaped the East Coast for the West that summer. Whale watching and hiking trips in the salty sea air and evenings spent eating lobster and drinking chardonnay like we were real adults and not twenty-one-year-olds with stars in our eyes.

She snuck out of the bunk bed in the room she was sharing with her sister, Rachel, and into my bedroom one night. And when she crawled in beside me and laid her warm palm against my chest, I was a goner. I’ve always wanted Olivia. Always desired her, from before I even knew what those strange feelings were in my gut, my chest. One sweet kiss in the darkness, my heart beating wildly.

But then reality slammed into me. There were a lot of reasons I told her no that night. Her mom had recently been diagnosed with cancer, and I knew Olivia would regret using me to cope. Plus, I knew from a recent game of Truth or Dare that she was waiting for the right man.

So I pressed a kiss to her forehead and then sent her away. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

And now she treats me as if I were a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of those Louboutin heels she favors.

“I really think this is for the best,” Fred adds, pulling me back to the present.

“It’s what your father wanted, Noah,” Prescott says. Before my father’s death, Prescott was his most trusted advisor. He’s also the actual worst human being. Seriously, can’t stand the guy.

Just then, the conference room door flies open, and I know it’s her before I even look up from the contract.

A fresh floral scent with crisp notes of honeysuckle greets me. I have no idea where Olivia gets her perfume, but it makes my mouth water. It always has. I once spent an entire Saturday at the fragrance counter of a department store trying to figure it out, trying to prove that it was just some manufactured, bottled version of attraction, that it wasn’t something special to her. I never found it.

“I’m here,” Olivia says, slightly breathless.

I look up just in time to be treated to the sight of her smoothing her pencil skirt over her curves. Her jacket is slung over her arm, as is her tan leather briefcase, monogrammed with her initials in black cursive stitching.

“Miss Cane,” I say cheerfully. “You look exceptionally refreshed this morning.”

She likes to exercise in the morning before work, says it gives her the mental agility to stay focused on business for the sixteen-hour days she’s known to plow through. I like that it gives her cheeks a rosy glow.

“Save it, Noah. This is purely business,” she says, blinking at me with those lush, dark lashes.

No smile. No laughter. The opposite of the usual reaction I evoke from females. And that annoys me to no end.

It’s as if Olivia Cane alone possesses an antidote to my charm. I scratch absently at the stubble on my jaw.

Realizing they’re all still watching me, I take a deep breath, trying to get myself under control, and hold up my hands. “I’m just trying to do what’s best here.”

Olivia lets out a soft sigh of exasperation and sets her bag on the table. “Let’s get on with this.”

Her father pats the back of her hand. “Sit down, honey.”

She obeys, poised even in defeat, lowering herself into the seat with the confidence that was bred into her from birth. Preston slides a copy of the contract over to her, and she leafs through it with disinterest.

“I just don’t see why there has to be a marriage clause in the will.”

The woman has a point. My guess? Because our fathers have always wanted to play matchmaker when it came to us. They’ve paired us together since we were in diapers.

“I’ve explained this, darling. It’s the only way we keep the company in the family. I thought that’s what you wanted . . . a chance to run this place someday.”

“I do, Dad,” she says softly. Then her eyes lift to mine. “I just didn’t think I’d be forced into something like this.”

“No one’s forcing you,” I say, keeping my tone light as I lace my fingers behind my head. “The choice is yours, Olivia. I already told you, I’m game.”

She chews on her red lacquered thumbnail for just a second before folding her hands in her lap and shooting me an icy glare. “I’m quite aware of your position.”

My stomach tightens. But at least she’s willing to hear us out again. I know that deep down, she understands our fathers’ rationale. We’re stronger together. Our families built this company together. Neither of us can afford to buy the other out, so it needs to stay jointly fifty-fifty within the family. For now, at least.

But for me, it’s about more than just money. Olivia and I grew up together; our parents always envisioned us ending up together. I always knew she’d be somewhere in my future, even if it was just working side by side, with her busting my balls every chance she got. It was something I looked forward to.

Fred continued. “Trust and loyalty are the most important things in business. We can’t go getting into bed with someone we don’t know. We have to keep all of this in this room. Just between family.”

Olivia sighs, giving him a skeptical look. “I’ll think about it.”

At least it wasn’t a flat no this time, even if her tone is still sour.

Prescott lets out an annoyed huff. “We’ll meet again on Thursday.”

She stuffs the contract in her bag and rises from the table, seemingly in a hurry to escape. “Until then.”

“Thank you for keeping an open mind,” her father says. “These things have a way of working themselves out in ways you can’t anticipate.”

I accept Fred and Prescott’s good-bye handshakes. When Olivia’s turn comes, she thrusts her hand at me, clearly wanting to just get this over with . . . and I have a flash of wicked inspiration. Maybe I should shake things up a bit…

Holding her gaze, I raise her hand to my mouth and kiss it. “A pleasure doing business with you . . . Mrs. Tate,” I tease in a husky voice, letting my lips graze her knuckles.

Her eyes widen and she sucks in her breath. Is it my imagination, or do her cheeks look a little pinker than before? But before I can be sure, her expression hardens into a glare.

Snatching back her hand, she snaps, “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I haven’t agreed to marry you yet, and even if I do, I’m never taking your last name.”

And then she’s gone, leaving me standing there with a stupid grin on my face.

“I’ve seen that look before,” Fred says with a small smile. “You’re in trouble, son.”

I laugh off his warning. There’s no way Olivia Cane will ever have me wrapped around her finger.

Yet her unique sweetness lingers in my nostrils. She must have dabbed that intoxicating scent on her wrist, so close to my nose when I kissed her hand. I can still feel her soft, smooth skin on my lips. Such a small intimacy—just brushing her as I spoke—shouldn’t have spread this tingle over me. But there’s no denying that this room has become a few degrees too warm.

This is going to be interesting. Heck, it may even be fun.